Chapter Text
Anakin was already having a bad day before the assassin showed up.
It wasn’t enough that he, Ahsoka and Rex had been branded enemies of the state, apparently—no, then Hydra had to go and send a goddamned assassin after them. With a metal arm, too.
Looking down at his own metal arm, he couldn’t help but feel a bit insulted.
He was out of time to ruminate, though, as the bus he hid behind was suddenly riddled with gunshots. He dove to the side, narrowly missing a bullet to the head, looking frantically around for any sign of Ahsoka or Rex.
Nothing. He hoped they’d been smart and gotten the hells out of there.
The gunfire stopped after a few moments, and he dared a glance over the car he now stooped behind. The assassin had vacated his post from the elevated highway. Great.
A soft whirr was the only warning Anakin got before a metal arm punched into the window of the car.
There was no time even for a snippy remark—the assassin was on him in a second, raining down punches and kicks so fast that Anakin could barely evade them, much less retaliate. He flipped backwards, granting himself some breathing room, and the assassin slowed.
They regarded each other silently. Brown eyes met piercing blue, the only defining feature in a face largely hidden by a mask. Blue Eyes was the nickname, then.
Blue Eyes drew a pocket knife, and Anakin felt a grin coming on to his face despite himself.
“A bit small, isn’t it?” he said.
The man didn’t deign a response before leaping forward.
Blue Eyes was fast, but Anakin was prepared this time. He deftly dodged swipes of the knife, getting in a few hits of his own with the shield he’d knicked from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters—no, the irony wasn’t lost on him.
Eventually, though, Anakin was forced backwards with each precise strike of the assassin. At one point he was backed into the side of a van, and the man’s metal arm whirred again before slamming the pocket knife into the side of the vehicle with enough force to drive it clean through. He didn’t even bother removing it from the van, instead dragging it sideways with increasing speed as Anakin scrambled to get away.
He had a moment to gather himself as Blue Eyes ripped his knife out from the torn metal of the van. That piercing gaze focused back on him, forcing a chill down Anakin’s spine.
There was nothing behind those eyes. No rage, or guilt, or pain. Only emptiness.
The assassin dashed forward once again, as was his way, and Anakin rolled out of the way, going for the legs. He missed, but the assassin was forced backwards, and Anakin pressed the advantage, hitting towards the gut and chest before narrowly dodging another knife strike, lifting his hand up to the assassin’s face and grabbing his mask—
A powerful kick send him back several yards at the same time the mask clattered to the ground. Anakin looked up, preparing himself for another round—
Every thought emptied from his mind as he beheld the assassin’s face.
Piercing blue eyes. Red hair.
“Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead. Killed on a joint mission, years and years ago, because Anakin hadn’t been fast enough to save him. It couldn’t be. The sound of his scream as he was rent from the side of that train on the cliffiside haunted Anakin’s nightmares. His officer, his friend, his brother, ripped away in an instant.
But Anakin could never forget that face.
The assassin—Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, and Anakin didn’t think he imagined the confusion that warred with the emptiness there.
“Who the hell is Obi-Wan?”